


Kindred Spirits

by Star4545



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anne of Green Gables References, Bisexual Simon Snow, Coming Out, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star4545/pseuds/Star4545
Summary: Baz and Simon have been best friends since childhood, but after a revelation is revealed, things in their lives become more complicated.
Relationships: The Mage/Lucy Salisbury, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 3
Kudos: 67





	Kindred Spirits

**Baz**

“I have to tell you guys something,” Simon starts. I’m nervous. Simon doesn’t like talking about himself and he never has secrets that he keeps from us. He’s scratching the back of his neck. Penny and I share a look of utter confusion. “I-um-well…” I want to tell him to spit it out already, but over the years of being Simon’s best friend, I’ve realized that he needs time. He takes a deep breath in and removes his hand from his neck. He nervously looks around his room as if he has never seen it before.

His room is dark and dank. He’s had the same duvet since childhood and the walls are a bleak navy. His father won’t let him have pictures on the walls, so it looks like an empty guest room. It’s lived in; you can tell by the creases of the bedsheets or the paper on the wooden desk, but otherwise it lacks Simon’s bold personality. I keep urging him to do something, anything, with his room, but he gives me an empty glare and tells me, _“I’ll be off to uni in a year. It doesn’t matter.”_ But it does.

His room should be a reflection of himself but it’s really a reflection on his relationship with his father. Their relationship is cold. Simon’s mother left the family when he was young. I was over the house when she left. We both cried. Simon has seen her once or twice since, but he refrains from regular communication. He always makes the excuse that she’s in America, but I know he doesn’t feel comfortable with her.

Lucy Snow-Salisbury was a wonderful person. I don’t remember much of her, as Simon and I were about 7 when she left. She had beautiful blonde hair that cascaded down her shoulders and intoxicating blue eyes. She had a warm smile and would cook wonderful meals. Every Friday, her and Davy’s mutual friends (mostly from Watford) would come for happy hour. Simon and I, sometimes joined by Penny or other kids, would play in the backyard. Tipsy on sweet tasting wine, she would hand us all juice boxes of Innocent smoothies and we would sip on the fruity drink until we were delirious with sugar. My father would shake his head as we rolled down the hill in their backyard. When we got to the bottom of the hill, we would laugh in childhood innocence. Our heads would lie close to one another and we would giggle into each other’s faces. While Simon must miss her, so do I. The sheer amount of time I spent at the Snow-Salisbury’s in my youth made her another mother to me, especially in the time when I didn’t have one.

Growing up, Davy Snow-Salisbury was a nice man. While his smile was less than bright, he would stare at Lucy lovingly as she served hors d'oeuvres to the Friday night guests. He had a bellowing laugh that would fill up the house. The laugh was always unexpected from a man with a nasally voice. Whenever he laughed, Simon would smile and laugh along. He would bake delicious scones that would crumble at the very touch. He would help us clean up the grass stains from our shirts without batting an eyelash. Davy was joyous, happy, and most of all loving. 

But maybe he wasn’t that last thing. None of us kids know why Lucy left. It seemed as if it happened in an instance. One Friday, everyone was over and the next day, she was gone. The house that once felt so full of live was left a shell. While the pictures of the family still hang on the walls, there is no feeling to it. They are stock pictures with people that happen to look like the ones that live there. The house is in a state of stagnancy; nothing ever changes.

Davy on the other hand did change. We never hear him laugh anymore. He gets irritated easily, pushing irate feeling unto Simon for no reason. He’ll spout mean nonsense words when Simon forgets that Monday is laundry day and Simon just takes it because he can’t do anything else in fear that something worse could happen. Davy spends most of his time droning on about work and barely bats an eye to Simon’s issues. He’ll bring women home and make no moves to be quiet or cast a silencing spell. Simon will sometimes call me on those nights. If we are quiet enough, I can hear the squeaking of the bed. While we spend our school years away, Davy looms over Simon, forcing him to come home on weekends to see him but barely spends any time with him.

Davy’s rude with me too. I remember when I was young and we were covered in grass stains, after cleaning us up, he would ruffle my hair and say, “I always wanted another kid.” He would call me son, especially after my mother died. I loved both Simon’s parents like they were my own and they treated me as such. Now, Davy barely lets me or Penny over. If we do, we follow specific rules and we have to be gone by dinner.

“I’m bi,” Simon says, finally getting the words out. A big smile spreads across my face. I look to Penny who seems equally as happy. I tackle him in a hug. He’s smiling now too. I let go and Penny rubs his arm. Simon doesn’t like more than one person touching him at a time.

“Thank you for trusting me. I’m so proud of you for coming out,” Penny says. I nod.

“Penny, how does it feel to be the token straight person?” I ask. She sticks her tongue out at me. Simon laughs. Simon stands up, taking a deep breath, and goes to his window. When he is overly anxious, he likes to look outside. He says it helps ground him and reminds him that there always is a way out.

“Have you told your dad yet?” Simon turns to me, looking like a deer in headlights, his face suddenly pale. He looks back to the window and opens it, leaning against the windowsill.

“I didn’t think about that.”

“You don’t have to tell him,” Penny replies.

“I probably should. I’m shite at keeping secrets.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” I offer. He looks at me and shakes his head.

“I doubt it.”

“Let’s stay positive. I’m sure he’ll still love you either way.” Penny is always the voice of positivity. Simon and I are much too cynical without her.

“I’m not sure he even loves me now.” It breaks my heart a little bit. My family barely says “I love you” but we all know that we care, even my father who after my coming out started to shut me out.

Simon and I decided not to tell Davy of my sexual orientation. While he was like a father to me, we didn’t feel it necessary. Simon feared that it would go badly, and he would no longer be able to see me (although we are roommates at school). It’s not like I speak to Davy very often and if we do, it’s definitely not about girls I’m dating.

Simon and I were so excited when the crucible stuck us together. It was a cold September night. Simon, Penny, and I had eaten way too much food, making our movements lethargic. The night moved slowly even though magic and excitement circled the air. One of the older students was lighting off fireworks with a spell from the song “I Gotta Feeling” by the Black-Eyed Peas. There was someone playing music and we all sang along. A few of the older students, drunk on a spell that gave any drink the effects of alcohol, were loudly slurring the words to the Watford alma mater; their arms were around each other as they swayed lazily.

Simon at this point was finally almost himself again. He had gotten used to living with his father without his mother. His magic was bubbling underneath his fingertips. Fueled with food and feeling jubilant, the sweet smell of cinnamon buns filled our noses. His magic was making him glow. Even as a boy, Simon was powerful. Thankfully, Davy and Lucy had taught him from a young age what to do to control it. It wasn’t often Penny and I got to see this unhinged version of our Simon.

Then when we were placed together, Simon and I ecstatically ran to Mummers House. Up and up the stairs, finally finding the room, _our_ room. Our bags were already there, and uniforms were on our beds. The walls were bare, but Simon was quick to point out that we could decorate however we wanted. I had brought some photos from home and we spend the rest of the evening unpacking and decorating.

Simon sighs. I stand up and walk over to him, crowding next to him to feel the breeze of a summer afternoon. “It’ll be okay,” I whisper softly. “I love you.” I hope Penny didn’t hear, she’d make a big fuss of me being soft and loving towards Simon.

“I love you too,” he murmurs.

“Hate to break up this cute moment, but Davy will be home soon, so we best be leaving,” Penny says. The zip of a backpack indicates that she’s already starting to get ready to leave. Simon groans.

“I don’t understand why we can’t be here while he’s here,” I whine. 

“Penny’s probably right,” he says. “It’s better if you go.”

“Alright,” I say. I don’t move.

“Baz, you coming?”

“I’m just going to stay until Davy gets home. Go without me.” Penny comes over to us, kissing both of our heads before heading out.

When we hear the front door close, Simon leaves his spot by the window and lies down on his bed face first.

“How do you think he’ll take it?” Honestly, I don’t know how to answer. I leave the window open as I walk away from it. I sit at the end of Simon’s bed, putting his feet on my lap.

“He’s unpredictable, isn’t he?”

“Just a bit of a wild card.”

“You know I’m here for you, right?” I ask. Simon nods, his curls bouncing as he does it.

“Yeah.”

“Does Davy ever hurt you?” I ask after a beat of silence. Simon turns around so I can see his face. He sits up and looks to my lap. I hadn’t realized that I’d been playing with the cuff of his trackie. “Like… physically?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

“I just wanted to check.”

“No, no. He would never. He might be emotionally distant, but he would never hit me or anything.” He lies his head back down. He’s let his curls grow out and they now flop over his eyes.

“Okay good.”

“Thank you for your support, Baz.”

“No problem, Simon.”

“I-um…” He sits up and looks at me. He’s got this dumb look on his face; lips slightly parted, blue eyes in a daze. “Forgot what I was going to say… um…” He chuckles. I laugh too.

We must’ve not heard the front door open because there is a knock-on Simon’s bedroom door and there stands Davy. He looks a mess; his tie is loosened, and his hair is sticking up. Simon moves his legs off my lap, standing up to greet his father.

“How was your day at work?” Davy grunts.

“It’s nice to see you, Basilton. I see you are growing your hair out.” I’ve had long hair for the past several years and it is not the first time when I’ve been caught here, and he’s said that.

“It’s nice to see you too, Davy.” He looks pleased enough by my response.

“Simon, can you cook tonight or bring in some takeaway? I’m too knackered to cook.” 

“Yeah, okay. What do you want?”

“Pasta?”

“Sure,” Simon says. He doesn’t sound very happy about pasta.

“Good, good. I’ll help you clean up later.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’m going to my room. Have a good day, Basilton.” He’s gone before I can respond. Simon gives me a look and lets out a breath that he’s been holding in.

“I’ll tell him today. He seems like he’s in a good mood.”

“Okay.” Simon puts on an uneasy smile. “I should probably be going. Vera’s making Sunday roast and I don’t want to be late. Walk me outside?” Simon nods.

I grab my phone and we walk downstairs. I glance over to the door that leads to the backyard. When we were young, it was freshly painted red, but now the paint looks chipped. Maybe one day Simon and I will repaint it.

We go outside and Simon walks with me to the car.

“If it goes badly—"

“I know.”

“Call me.”

“I will.”

“Alright.” We don’t hug goodbye. Davy’s in the house and his bedroom window looks out to the street. We don’t risk anything even if he turns out to be accepting.

I open my car door and step inside. I roll my window down as the motor starts up. “See you later, darling,” I say jokingly in a bad 1940’s American drawl and I blow him a kiss. He pretends to grab it.

“However will I survive this time away from you?”

“I’ll be back before you know it, doll.”

He laughs and I put my car in reverse. Whenever it’s just the two of us and one of us has to leave, we pretend like one of us is the man going off to war, the other a housewife forced to wait for her husband. I don’t know how it started, but once Penny saw it and rolled her eyes. Her fantasy and mine are the same, that Simon and I will end up in a relationship. Neither of us will go to war and neither of us will be a housewife. Maybe there is hope now, but hope doesn’t do anything except bring your expectations up and I’ve had my expectations lowered one too many times to count.

**Simon**

It was my full intention to tell him tonight. To sit him down with a nice plate of spaghetti and meatballs and tell him my secret. But then I sat him down, the meatballs soggy due to my preoccupation, and it didn’t seem right. We both sat in silence, pretending to like my ruined food. By the end of the night, he smiles at me. I can’t remember the last time he did that.

There’s a text waiting for me from Baz when I check my phone. I’m waiting anxiously for the ice cream to soften, but I don’t want to put it in the microwave. My mother once told me that patience is an important thing to a mage, so I wait it out and try not to think of my mother.

I plan to tell Father the next night, but he’s in a horrid mood and I can’t bear to tell him.

Finally, Friday comes, his off day. There is no possible way he can be in a bad mood. He always cooks for me on Fridays and we watch a movie. No matter how uncomfortable he is to be around, at least we have this. He cooks us dinner and we sit down at the table. He’s poured me a glass of wine and we are both steadily drinking. I look out the window, searching for a sign that it’s a good time to do this, but I find none. All I find is the decrepit lawn furniture from my childhood. I decide that dinner is not the time.

We fight over a movie to watch until I give up. It’s a dull action film that doesn’t leave much up to interpretation. I like dumb flicks as much as the next guy, but the whole time I’m gnawing my lip, waiting for a decent moment. I can’t keep this in anymore.

By the time it finishes, it’s late. Our house feels cold late at night with the lights turned off. While the house looks like a time capsule of my childhood with a missing piece during the day, at night it almost feels wrong to be anywhere but my room. Dad huffs, starting to get up before I stop him.

“Dad,” I start. Blue shadows from the TV echo off his face and I can imagine for a minute that I’m just a little boy, staying up too late watching Disney movies with Baz on Halloween night. He huffs again. He used to have patience for me, but it’s slowly diminished through the years. “I love you.” We aren’t the type to say that and it’s not what I wanted to say at all. Within the small amount of light, I can see him soften.

“Oh… um… love you too, Son.”

“Can you say my name instead of son?” His eyes meet mine. He fondly rolls his eyes like Baz does to me frequently.

“Yes, Simon,” he says reluctantly. 

“Before you leave, I need to tell you something.” I can hear the distant ticking of the clock next to the doorway. It used to be a working cuckoo clock, but it’s long since I’ve seen the bird pop out. My mother put it by the door, so you’d always know what time it is before leaving. She was big on punctuality but never quite got the hang of it.

“Out with it. I’m tired.” Part of me wants to defer it to another night, but I know I can’t anymore.

“I’m bisexual,” I say quickly, letting out a deep breath.

“Oh.”

“Good oh or bad oh?” He sits on that for a few moments.

“So, you like boys and girls?”

“Yes.”

“Do you plan to be with a girl?”

“I don’t know.” He takes a deep breath, it’s sharp and not comforting.

“Simon, I’ve done everything I can to be a good father to you,” he starts, and I know it can’t be good. “And sometimes, I don’t know what to do with you anymore.” He meets my eyes, then harshly looks away. He’s put his hand to his temple. My eyes fixate on the Netflix _Are you Still Watching_ screen, hoping to find solace in it. “It’s been very hard to raise you without your mother.” I don’t know what that means. I don’t remember being a problem child. I am caught between two mediums of is it because of me or is it just hard to not have a co-parent.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“But I don’t know how to handle your attraction to boys. I—" I am hopeful that he’ll say something like _“but I still love you”_ but the way his expression changes, his eyebrows start to crease, his right eye twitching, I know that won’t be so. “I need you to leave for a few days.”

“What?”

“I want you to be gone by morning.” He starts to get up and I grab onto his sleeve. He stares at me coldly.

“Dad, please, it’s late. Where am I supposed to go?”

“The Grimms? The Bunces? I don’t care.”

“How can you be so cold?” He yanks his arm away from me. I stand my ground, tilting up my chin, trying to take up more space. “You are always mean to me. Constantly. What have I done to you? I cook, I clean, I come home on the weekends while I’m at Watford and you don’t even spend time with me. I’ve tried everything to be a good son. And yet you spout mean words to me at every given moment. Do you even love me?”

“Of course, I love you,” he says harshly. “But I can’t stand to be around you right now.”

“I miss when you used to laugh, Dad. I miss when you were happy.”

“Simon, please leave.”

I nod, resigning up to my bedroom to try and figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do. I call Baz, praying to a god I don’t believe in that he’s awake.

“Simon—"

“Hey.”

“Are you alright?”

“I told him. He wants me out. Can you please come pick me up?”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“No.”

“I hate him. Fuck him. I’m coming. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to stay on the phone?”

“No.”

“Alright. I’ll see you soon, Simon.”

“Do you still have a toothbrush for me?”

“Of course.”

He hangs up and I lie down in my bed, unknowing whether I’ll ever be able to get up, but also wanting to escape as fast as possible.

**Baz**

I immediately call Penny after hanging up with Simon. I know it isn’t my business to tell her, but we’ve had plans in case of this.

“Code red,” I say to her.

“I’ll bring the ice cream,” she responds.

I arrive at Simon’s house in record time. I used every speed spell I could think of. I imagined that he would be sitting on the front stoop, waiting for me, but he isn’t. I call him, but he doesn’t answer. I huff.

Unwillingly, I turn off the engine to my car and go up to the red door of the house. Similar to the backdoor, this one’s paint job is deteriorating. I knock on the door. I expected Simon to answer, but I’m faced with Davy. I growl when I see him, a Simon-ism that I must’ve picked up. He gives me a tired smile. It isn’t often I see Davy Snow-Salisbury in a jumper and trackies. In this moment, he looks similar to Simon with the messy hair and lounge clothes. Though Simon is much more handsome than Davy could ever be. I remember once seeing him as a young adult at Watford. He was mildly attractive then, but his current wispy mustache ruins it all.

Davy hasn’t seen me in anything other than jeans and suits in a long time. Simon and I used to be able to have sleepovers and I would often come to his. The manor felt empty, especially with the loss of my mother. Simon’s home was comforting and warm, especially in the winter when we would huddle around the fireplace, mugs of hot chocolate in our little palms.

“I’m here for Simon.”

“Of course, you are,” there is a tone of hostility in his voice.

“Is that a problem?” He shakes his head.

“I’ll go fetch him.”

I walk inside. I see Davy go upstairs and hear the light knock on Simon’s bedroom door. A sickly sweet, “Simon,” coming from his father. I almost forgot that I just came face to face with a man who kicked his own son out of the house. No matter how much it killed my father that I’m gay, he would never kick me out. Daphne wouldn’t let him.

I look at the clock by the door. _23:02._ Crowley. Simon begrudgingly comes out of his room. He forcefully bumps into his father on his way down. He doesn’t greet me, just sulks outside. I follow him.

Once we are outside, I smile at him. “I’ve return from war, sweetheart. You should’ve seen those battlefields. Men fighting men all over the place.” He doesn’t laugh.

“Not tonight, Baz.” I unlock my car and we both get in. I start my engine as soon as we both have our seatbelts on.

“Want to talk?”

“No.”

“May I play music?” He nods. My music starts playing through the car.

As we drive, I can hear Simon singing gingerly. I want to tell him to sing louder, but I know he doesn’t feel like singing so hard his voice hurts tonight. Simon is especially fond of Queen. Whenever they come on, I see him tentatively reach for the volume button. It’s good to know that some things never change.

I’ve never seen Simon exit a car as fast as he did when we reach the Manor. I’m barely trailing behind him by the time he is at the door. I unlock it and we enter. He goes straight for the stairs, starting the hike to my room. Due the frequency of Simon’s visits, I’m sure he could find my room in any condition placed, even if it is nearly impossible to navigate in the dark. I catch up to him on the third set of stairs (the final ones). When we get to my room, he heads straight for the sofa (his normal sleeping arrangement). “No, you are sleeping in my bed tonight.” It was selfish. Half of me wanted make sure he was the most comfortable and the other half wants to know where he is and be able to hold him if he needs. He drops his bag on the ground, kicks off his trainers, and heads straight for the bed.

By the time I carefully take off my shoes and outerwear, there are cries coming from Simon. His face is buried in my pillow, muffling the sound of his sobs. I sit on the edge of my bed, knowing not to touch him. We sit in silence for a few minutes, my eyes falling anywhere that isn’t my best friend. I find the red color of my room quite unappetizing and have the sudden urge to paint it blue.

“Do you want me to stay here?” I ask.

“Yes,” he croaks.

“Okay. Do you want me to do anything?” I know he’ll say no, but I ask anyway. He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry.” Simon turns around, wiping his eyes as he does so. They are puffy and red. It makes my heart break.

“For what?”

“Crying.”

“You are valid.” He looks at me for a moment before diverting his eyes from mine. “Remember when I came out to my father? You came over and I cried for much longer than you just did.”

“Then we watched _Love Island_ and you told me which guys were hot. I didn’t say it then, but I agreed.” I snicker.

“Simon! We can talk about guys now. Which celebrities do you think are hot? I know you like Anna Kendrick but I’m talking guys.” Simon laughs lightly. He probably doesn’t want to talk about this right now. I don’t know whether I want him to talk or keep him distracted.

“I think Harry Styles is pretty hot.”

“Everyone thinks Harry Styles is hot, Simon. Think outside the box.” He puts his hand on his chin like he is pretending to think.

“Um, well, I, um, Adam Driver”

“Okay, I’ll take that.”

“Baz,”

“Yeah.”

“Can you… I mean, if you are comfortable with it… I… um,” there are tears starting to come out of his eyes again. “Can you hold me?” I climb over to him and rest against my pillows. He makes himself comfortable in my arms and cries into my shoulder. I rest my arms around his back and rub lightly.

“Is this okay?” Simon nods. His hair tickles my neck, but I don’t mind.

I don’t say _everything is going to be alright_ or try to shush him, I just let him cry. Simon always liked the quiet and I don’t really think it’s my place to try and reassure him. Maybe that’s a cause of my parent’s parenting style, but I don’t think Simon liked to be coddled. Simon is brash, hard lines with soft spots, and an absolute plonker. Davy and Lucy used to be more on top of him when he was young. While my parents said no because they didn’t want to lose face, Davy and Lucy said no in fear of danger. While my parents stayed far away from a sight of injury, Simon’s parents always took care. But again, when Lucy died, his father became distant. Then we became two boys that relied on each other instead of our parental figures. 

“Can you sing to me?” A raspy toned Simon says.

“Now?”

“Yeah.” Simon’s face escapes my shoulder. My shirt is varnished with fresh tears. Simon’s eyes have never looked so blue and his face has never looked so sad. “Sing our song.”

“Why?”

“Because I love when you sing it.”

I reach for my phone and Simon pouts. I want to kiss it off his lips. He’s right there. I open my Spotify and go to our communal playlist. I play _Carry On_ by fun. Simon smiles, but it’s not a real smile. His eyes aren’t crinkling up. I sing it to him, and his head finds my shoulder again. I almost stop singing when I hear him crying, but then I thought he might need this right now, so I continue. Before the final chorus, I get a text from Penny saying she’s outside.

“Simon, I need to get up.”

“Finish singing.”

“Has anyone told you how bossy you are?”

“I’m sad. Fuck off.” I finish singing before detaching myself from Simon.

“Where are you going?”

“Downstairs.”

“Can you get me some water?”

“Yeah.”

“And one of those cookies that Mordelia likes.” I roll my eyes and nod.

“Feel free to play music off my phone. I’ll be right back.” Simon knows my phone passcode. We don’t hide anything from each other, and I know the worst thing he’ll do is take some bad selfies and make them my background.

**Simon**

I’m not expecting Penny to be trailing beside Baz when he reenters his room. I’m so happy to see her that I run up to her and twirl her in my arms. Baz grabs her bags and she holds me while I cry for a moment.

“I’m so happy to see you,” I say, taking a breath of relief.

“Are you okay?” She whispers in my ear.

“No, but I will be at some point.” She rubs my back like Baz was doing earlier.

“I hope you don’t mind that I told her,” Baz says. I look over to him. He is awkwardly standing there with bags in his hands. There is a plate with a cookie and a glass of water sitting on his nightstand.

“Not at all.”

“I brought ice cream,” Penny says walking over to Baz. “I brought cookie dough for Simon, mint chocolate chip for Baz, and cookies and cream for myself. Yes, Simon, you can have some of mine.” She dulls out the ice cream and spoons. We all dig in. Baz turns on his TV and we watch a couple episodes of _Schitt’s Creek._ We all like it and it’s the perfect show to rewatch and not pay that much attention to. I find my mind wandering throughout the night. I’m halfway through the pint before Penny takes it out of my hands. The TV is on the _are you still watching_ screen and I’m transported back to just a few hours ago.

I try to remember that I’m in Baz’s room. But his red walls remind me of the red doors and all the sudden I’m stuck in the eternal replay of my conversation with my father and the last words my mother said to me, _“I will always love you, Simon.”_ But would she love me now? I try to shake out of it, but I can’t. I keep seeing her leaving. I keep seeing my father’s disappointed face peering at me. I close my eyes so tight I start to see stars; I pull my hair so tight that I’m afraid I’ll rip it out. I can’t see Penny or Baz or hear their worries. I wonder if there are tears running down my face or if I just look like a numpty with shut eyes and closed fists. I can feel by heart beating, my breath quickening and then the absence of air. I feel a person’s touch and I want to tell them off, but I can’t find the words. Then the touch leaves and I find myself craving it. The indestructible and unceasing dichotomy of person with anxiety struggling through an anxiety attack.

I try and tell myself where I am. I am in Baz’s room with red walls and huge bed. There is a fireplace, a sofa, and an attached bathroom. Baz is sitting to my left and Penny to my right. I am in my favorite pair of trackies and a blue shirt that I’ve had for years. I focus my breathing and find music playing in the room that I had been too in my head to notice. It’s the second song in my playlist with Baz: _Cherry Wine_ by Hozier.

I’m scared that when I open my eyes and release my hair that Baz and Penny will be angry with me. That they will see me crying and decide to leave. The logical part of me knows they would never do this to do, but I can’t help but think that over and over again. Once my breathing gets back to normal and I realize that I have in fact been crying (how long have I been doing that for?), I stop squeezing my eyes so tight. Then I release my hair and wipe my eyes. The world seems too bright as I open my eyes.

“How long have I been crying?”

“A while.” I look to Baz, his eyes are red.

“Have you been crying too?” Baz nods sheepishly.

“I hate seeing you upset,” Baz says in a soft voice that I haven’t heard in a while.

“Get a room you two. Your sappiness makes me want to bash my head against the wall.”

“We have a room. You are the one intruding,” Baz says. Penny sticks her tongue out at him, and he sticks his middle finger out.

“Simon, how are you feeling?” Penny asks. I look away from Baz and his sad, red eyes that I caused. _I_ caused. Penny’s dyed red hair reminds me of the doors back at home and I have to stop myself from spiraling again.

“Tired.”

“Let’s go to bed then. It’s late.” Baz comes with me to the bathroom. He gets out a toothbrush and then leaves me be. I stare at myself in the mirror. I hate seeing myself after an attack. I hate the bloodshot eyes and the messy hair. It just reminds me of my imperfectness. I brush my teeth quickly and use the loo. When I get back, Penny goes into the bathroom. I climb into Baz’s bed. I can’t remember the last time we slept in this bed together. Normally if the three of us have sleepovers, Penny takes the sofa and I lie on the floor on a blow-up mattress even though the three of us could sleep on Baz’s bed and all have our own room.

Baz comes over to my side and like a doting mother, pulling the blankets on top of me, knowing full well I’ll probably kick them off halfway through the night when I’m dying of heat. When Penny’s out of the bathroom, Baz goes in. It takes him exactly ten minutes before I feel the bed dip.

“Thank you, guys,” I say into the darkness, hoping someone is awake to hear. “I love you.”

“We love you too, Simon,” Penny replies.

“Yeah we do,” Baz says.

I’m starting to drift off when I feel the need to ask quietly, “You won’t leave me right?” Not expecting anyone to hear.

“I would never leave you, Simon. I love you too much,” Baz confirms. “Go to sleep now.”

I do.

When I wake up from my dreamless sleep, I find myself alone in Baz’s room. It’s huge and daunting to be in there alone, I don’t know how Baz lives here. I worry for a moment that all my friends have left me with no intentions to come back, but then I remember the small voiced Baz last night saying he wouldn’t do that to me. I find my phone in my bag, seeing that it isn’t even 9 am. I sit on Baz’s room for a few minutes to check my socials and by the time I’m finally ready to leave, Baz and Penny enter the room with a tray full of food.

“Surprise!” They both say. My heart warms. I don’t think I could ever have two better best friends.

“We didn’t cook this,” Baz says.

“Thank god for that,” I say, starting to dig in.

Penny leaves after breakfast, complaining that as the eldest in the house right now she has to take care of her younger siblings. She gives me a huge hug before she leaves and whispers something to Baz that I don’t catch, probably a _“look after him”_ like the mother she is. I watch the door for a minute too long, Baz tugs at my sleeve, forcing me to come back to bed. He moves the large tray of food (I can’t believe he let me eat in his bed) onto the floor and we lounge lazily.

“We don’t have to talk about it, but I’m here,” he says. I fixate on his long eyelashes, watching them flutter as he blinks.

Baz was the one who made me realize my sexuality. I would go to all his football practices and games; I would find myself asking why I thought sweaty boys were so attractive. Then in a moment of break in the game, Baz had lifted his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his forehead. I had seen Baz shirtless a handful of times but seeing him all sweaty and tired from the game made something inside me ignite. I reckon it’s been a long time I’ve felt this way. That moment was back in sixth year. Baz had come out in fourth year. I never could catch up to Baz on many levels. He had a growth spurt before me, went through puberty before me, seemed to understand lessons before I could. We are always in this friendly race and I found myself angry that I didn’t figure out my identity before him. I didn’t know what I was or what my attraction to sweaty boys playing football meant, but I do now.

After my epiphany at the football game, I looked up pictures of guys on my phone. I found them attractive. I liked the way they looked. Then I looked at girls and found them attractive as well. I never knew there was a term for it until I looked it up. I’ve been sitting on my sexuality for two years. I never told anyone because I thought I didn’t need to and I was scared.

I’m still watching him. How can one man look so perfect? I tear my eyes away from his glorious eyelashes and find myself staring at his torso. He’s wearing shorts today, his strong thighs covered by material. I want to rip it off. No. Whenever I have these thoughts towards Baz, I tell myself not to think. I won’t allow myself to fantasize about a life that is never scarce of him. I focus back on his eyelashes. There is no way to romanticize those and watches as he does an act of human nature.

“Okay,” I reply. He turns his head towards me. His stare is so intense that I feel compelled to kiss him. The air is charged with energy that I haven’t felt before. Then he turns his head away, I’m almost grateful.

“Want to play video games?” I shrug. He gets up and throws me a controller. We spend hours jokingly teasing each other about who wins the matches of Fifa.

In what seems like the blink of an eye, Baz and I are going to the dining room for dinner. I’m still in my clothes from yesterday. I must smell. The Grimms are all friendly, thankfully not bringing up the elephant in the room. All the young ins are grateful to see me, asking me obscure questions like, “If I had to live in a room filled with one thing what would it be.” I answered food even though I wanted to say Baz.

When we get back to Baz’s room, the sun has long been set. I make my way toward the couch before Baz asks, “Why are you going over there?”

“Because I normally sleep on the couch.”

“Sleep in bed with me.” His eyes are almost pleading. I hadn’t seen that look on Baz’s face before. I’m normally the one who pouts when things aren’t going my way. Maybe he’s taking a page out of my book.

“Okay.”

“Do you want to take a shower?” I nod. I gather my things and go into Baz’s on suite.

**Baz**

I’ve been in love with Simon Snow for at least five years. I always used to feel jealous of Penny. Whenever they hung out, I was scared she would take him from me. I was very inwardly territorial over him. When he started dating Agatha, his now ex-girlfriend, I felt even more jealously. I would see them together and want to punch something. I took all my aggression out in football, making me a very good player for all the wrong reasons. Sometimes he would bring her to games, and I became ruthless on the field. For my beginning years at Watford, I thought it was just friendship jealously, but once I realized my attraction to guys, I knew it was much more deeply rooted than that.

My specific attraction to Simon Snow was very apparent. I realized that I would take in his appearance more often than I used to. He would come out of the shower, his chubby stomach on display and his freckles scattered like constellations across his skin, and I would think to myself how much I wanted him to constantly be in my hold. I saw him as someone I had to protect even though I knew that he is his own person. I always liked when he came to my football matches. It was a way for me to say to my jealous side that he was here for me. While Simon never did sports, I would always be there to cheer him on when he needed me.

But that’s all attraction. The moment when I realized I loved him in a different way than a friend was in the spring of sixth year; the year that Simon was committed to bettering himself. He was always active, but he wanted to be healthier. We would take early morning runs every other day. He was a good runner and I enjoyed that time with him. I looked over my shoulder to make sure he was beside me. The early morning sunlight reflected off his blonde curls, lighting up his eyes, and dancing across the freckles on his tan face. We stopped in that moment. There was some snow on the ground, a brief reminder of early spring, the last morsels of winter still trying to cling on. He was smiling, tongue between his white teeth.

He had stood there and said to me, “ _Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It's splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world._ ” A quote from _Anne of Green Gables_ , a book that Lucy used to read to us. She always said it was to teach us to be good men. I hadn’t heard the quote in so many years and would never expect it out of his mouth. I don’t know why he remembered the quote. Simon is not literary in the slightest, but as the words dissolved into the air, I wouldn’t know the difference. I looked into his eyes and there were tears brimming there.

“I think I know how Anne feels while she is in Avonlea,” he says. He had seen the springs at Watford before. I don’t know what made this early Spring morning any different from the years’ past, but he looked at me with such gentleness in his eyes. “Remember when she first arrives, and she sees the beautiful trees. Before she had even become aquatinted with anything, she knew that would be her home. She just knew everything would be okay.” He still hadn’t mentioned the kindred spirits, why that was the quote he picked out and recited.

“I think we are kindred spirits, Baz. We were meant to meet.” That’s what Lucy used to tell us. She would sigh and talk about kindred spirits. I once asked her if her and Davy were like that. She had shrugged and backed the question onto us. “We were meant to go to this beautiful school and run before anyone wakes up. We were meant to dance in the field and not care if anyone sees.” He grabs my hands, spinning me around. It felt like something out of a book, a scene that would end in the two best friends kissing. But he had let go of my hands, ran a hand through his hair, scratched his neck, and the moment was over.

“Penny’s a kindred spirit too,” I added. He nodded. It was the wrong thing to say, it changed the tone.

“Should we continue our run?” He asks. I wanted to talk more about kindred spirits. Simon could barely read from a book right in front of him, why was he able to recite that quote? I wanted to know what made him think Watford to be Avonlea. Was home so bad that the trees of the Wavering Wood and goats from Ebb’s hut acted as a safety for him? The grass was wet with dew and it tickled my ankles as we stood in the luscious green grass.

I’ve wanted to ask him about that day since it happened, but never did. When he comes out of the bathroom with wet hair and different pajamas, the words are on the tip of my tongue, but they disappear when he lies next to me.

“I want to call my mother.” I sit up so fast that my eyesight goes blurry.

“What?” I ask.

“You heard me.” He’s toying with his phone in his hand. He hasn’t talked to his mother in years. The last time he called her, he was emotionally unstable for weeks.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I want to tell her…” My eyes meet his. I nod, knowing how he feels. I wish everyday my mother was still alive to see if she would accept me.

While Simon is filled with anxiety, he is also has a tendency to act impulsively. He’s trying to video chat her. It’s about noon her time in Los Angeles. I wish Penny were here, she knows better than me about how to deal with Simon’s brash decisions. I tap a melody on my lap with my fingers, hoping she won’t pick up, so I won’t have to deal with the aftermath of another emotionally surged event. I’m not one to show my feelings and I’m getting to my limit. It feels like an eternity. I’m sitting beside Simon; I can see the screen but I’m out of frame. Simon is fidgeting with his hair trying to make himself seem presentable even though he’s in an old shirt and trackies.

“I’ll be okay, Baz. Stop worrying.” I should tell him the same thing.

“Remember the thing about kindred spirits?” Then the ringing stops and the top of Simon’s phone says _connecting._ I wasn’t prepared for this outcome and I don’t think Simon was either. His mouth is agape and when his phone finally connects, his mouth shuts.

Lucy doesn’t look any older than I remember her. Her hair is still blonde, falling down her shoulders. When I was younger, her hair was always in braids or piled on top of her head. She doesn’t seem entirely put together. We might have caught her in a bad moment because while her hair is falling on her shoulders, it seems disorderly. Her shirt is backwards and inside out, the tag on full display. Simon seems a little fazed, so does she. She clears her throat.

“Simon, what a lovely surprise.” There is no malice in her voice. A small smile is placed on her lips that I used to see throughout childhood.

“Hello,” he’s still fidgeting with his hair.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” What used to be a light British accent has turned distinctively American.

“Um… well... I… um…” He looks to me, then back to his phone. “I miss you.” I wonder if he really does. Her eyes widen a little bit.

“Well, I miss you too, Simon.” He looks happy to hear that response; his worried frown turns into a wonderful smile. His eyes crinkle as he does so.

“Do you mean that?” He asks.

“I do.” Simon looks back to me again. I squeeze his knee, trying to show support. Lucy keeps looking off to the right side to something off camera.

“Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, no.” She looks back to the camera. It’s unconvincing. She seems to be taking in Simon’s appearance. He looks much different than we did as kids and I can’t imagine what it must be like to see her son for the first time in at least ten years.

“How’s America?” Simon asks. The small talk is killing me. I’ve never been strong with patience. As a member of a high class, I’ve had to deal with situations that I don’t want to be in, so I know how to be patience. I just don’t like acting upon it.

“It’s wonderful. It’s always warm and sunny here. You would love it,” she says. As if she would know what Simon would like. “I’m glad that I’m here.” Simon nods, his Adams apple bobbing. He is starting to get upset, I can tell by his quickened breath and glossy eyes. I squeeze his knee again and smile.

Simon has never told me why his mother left, but I don’t think he knows either. His parents are still technically married, though neither of them follows the laws of marriage anymore. Davy doesn’t wear his wedding ring and I can’t tell if Lucy does. I get his father keeping the information from him when he was small, but Simon’s almost an adult now. He deserves to know.

“Listen, I, uh, need to tell you something,” Simon starts. Lucy looks visibly worried. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her mouth in a frown. He takes a deep breath. “I’m bisexual.” She takes a sigh of relief. Her eyes brighten.

“That’s wonderful, Simon. I’m so happy for you.” He nods. His whole demeanor shifts from anxious to more laidback. He sends me a quick smile.

“Dad wasn’t too happy. He kicked me out temporarily.”

“That’s not okay,” she says. Thank you Captain Obvious. Simon shrugs.

“I’m at Baz’s right now. Do you remember him?” Lucy nods.

“How could I forget?” She laughs. It reminds me of Simon’s laugh, airy, loud, and bright. When Simon laughs, it overtakes him. His mouth will be in a huge smile, his arms hugging his sides, dimples popping out.

“Do you want to say hello?” He drags me into frame. I give a small wave.

“Basilton is that really you? You look so mature. How are your parents? I miss them dearly. They were always a delight to have around the house and—” She stops herself, adjusting her posture. There is an awkward silence before I chime in.

“My parents are fine.”

“I hope Simon is treating you well. Thank you so much for bringing him in.”

**Simon**

I feel like I’m stuck between two worlds. In one, I’m happy that my mother is taking concern and I’m happy she picked up the phone. On the other hand, I’m angry that she is acting like my mother. She doesn’t get to thank someone for something when she barely knows the situation.

I change the subject as fast as possible, before Baz can even get a word in. “Do you still talk to Penny’s mum?”

“Once a week.” I’m shocked. Penny never told me such. I wonder if she even knows. I’ll call her after this and ask. Something boils inside me. I know the feeling well… jealously. I can’t believe she would call her school friends more often than her only son. I’m hurt, my fists are clenching.

“Oh.” Maybe dad told her not to contact me. That would make sense, but why would she pick up now if that were the case.

“Do you have a significant other? Either of you?” We stare at each other and giggle. I shake my head and he vigorously shakes his. “Oh. Well, time’s running out.” Right, the old wives’ tale that you have to meet your partner at Watford for a chance of happiness. Maybe Baz will come to his senses one day and see me as someone to care for. Even if romance turns out weird, I don’t want him to ever leave my side.

“We have our whole lives to meet people,” Baz says hypocritically. He once told me that he wanted to find his love at Watford. He said it’s easier that way, so why is he saying this now?

“I guess,” she says.

While I have her here, I contemplate asking her what happened. I look to Baz, trying to see if he can read my mind, but I know it isn’t possible even in a world of magic. I sigh. I doubt my father will ever tell me what happened. He is more the type to go to his room and sit with all his emotions instead of telling me. I hope my conflicting emotions aren’t present on my face. Should I rip the plaster off? Baz always judges me for my rash decisions, but maybe this is a time when I should take advantage.

“Why did you leave dad?” I say casually like this is a normal everyday topic. I hear Baz choke on his own spit beside me. My mother does not look at happy at my question. She looks irritated and emotional. Her eyes suddenly glossy, a hand running through her blonde hair.

“He never told you?” I shake my head. She sighs, then huffs. She has a very stern look on her face. “Do you ever feel like you have a weight on your shoulders you can’t shake off?” I nod. I feel that all the time. I got diagnosed with anxiety at age 12, a few years after my mother left and my dad gave into my pleas for therapy. “Well, I always felt that. Constantly. Your father was no help. He always was trying to change the world. The same old song over and over. He wanted another kid and I had said no. He kept trying to pressure me into it and I was scared that one day he might—" She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. She doesn’t need to finish. “He might rape me. I should’ve taken you with me, but I couldn’t. You would have to go back to go to Watford. Mitali had promised to look after you and you were so close to both Penny and Baz that I couldn’t dare move you away from your support system. I just couldn’t.” She’s rapidly moving her hand into her hair and out of it. Baz looks upset, his normal carefree manner all down. I feel emotionless, a pit of darkness shrouding me. “Davy always said our family was destined for something and I didn’t want to wait and see. I always thought I would come back, but I became so much happier here. And I’ve found someone here… It was never because of you, Simon. I love you and will always love you. I know you are stuck in that big brain of yours, but please look at me.” I look at her, she’s sitting closer to the camera. “I love you.” Baz is crying next to me. I’m shocked by his emotional outburst that I drop my phone onto his bed. I quickly pick it up and look back at my mother.

“Your father is a good man, Simon, but he gets stuck in his big brain too,” she says. I don’t agree. I think my father is a horrible man.

“He isn’t. He isn’t a good man,” Baz says for me. It’s not his place, but I nod in agreement. “You may have loved him, and he _used_ to be a better man, but he isn’t good. Or hasn’t been for a long time.” I rest my head on Baz’s shoulder.

“Simon, please say something, love.” I shake my head. Finally, the emotions are coming to the surface. I want to cry, but don’t want to in front of this person that I used to know.

“I,” My brain won’t work. I try to think of words, but it shuts down like an overheating computer. “Do you still talk to him?”

“Sometimes.”

“Did he ever hurt you?” I ask. It’s the same question Baz asked me a few weeks ago. “Like… physically?”

“Once.” I let out a shaky breath. “Has he ever hurt you?” I shake my head.

“Good. Let’s keep it that way, yeah?” I nod.

“I wish you didn’t leave me or told me more of an answer beforehand, but I understand why, and I’m glad you got out of a harmful place” I say. I want to scream.

“I’m glad you understand.” Mother wipes her eyes. I see Baz is doing the same.

“Baz…” She starts.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry I left you too.” He nods. I squeeze his arm. Our faces are so close that I can spot a small blackhead on his nose. The only blemish that Baz ever has.

“I accept the apology,” Baz says.

“I will always love you two. Please do not forgot that. Feel free to visit me anytime.”

“Mum,” I say. “Did you say that you met someone?”

“Yes.” There is a lightness in her voice that she used to use around my father. Maybe it was all fake then. She looks off camera for a moment.

“I’m glad.”

“He doesn’t want to come on camera now, but one day, you’ll meet him.” I nod. I let out another awful longing sigh.

“Listen, this has been great, but there is a lot to process, and I need to go. Um, can we talk again?”

“We can talk anytime, Simon.” I hang up and look at Baz. I take a pillow and scream into it. We both burst into tears.

**Baz**

Simon and I climb onto the roof the next night. From my room, we walk down the hall to an empty guest room and there is a fire escape which you can go to the roof on. There is a little terrace up there that only I frequent. Simon and I had found it many years prior and on summer nights like these where the wind is cool and the stars shining in the sky, it feels like eternity could go by and yet no time would pass.

Simon’s wearing one of my jumpers and it’s driving me absolutely feral. It’s my favorite one, the color is red and the sleeves are worn from years of wear. It’s big on him and he looks edible. We are both standing, his arms are on the railing and he’s leaning slightly over them. My back is to the railing, my arms resting on top of it, my head tilted toward him. He hasn’t said a word since we got up here five minutes ago.

“What were you going to say?” Simon asks me. His eyes drifting to the starry sky.

“You have to be more specific,” I reply. He glares at me, before his gaze shifts to something less menacing.

“Last night… about, um, the kindred spirt.” He breaks eye contact and stares ahead of him at the massive expanse of land my family owns.

“Oh,” I start. “Yeah… It’s not important.”

“It doesn’t have to be important. Just say what you want.” I’m still looking at him. I’m taking in how wide his shoulders are.

“Oh, okay.” I stare up at the stars, hoping that they give me the light to make this conversation easier. “Remember that day when we ran?”

“You have to be more specific,” Simon says jokingly. He giggles as he looks at me and I flip him off.

“The day when you quoted _Anne of Green Gables._ ”

“ _Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It's splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world,”_ he quotes again, savoring each word that he says.

“Why do you know that quote off the top of your head?” I ask. I stuff my cold hands into my pockets, hoping to find some warmth there.

“Don’t you memorize quotes that mean something to you?” I shrug. I guess I have, but they are all about love, and I would never relay to Simon.

“Why that quote though?” Simon shrugs.

“Guess it just popped out to me.” There is something he isn’t telling me. He has left my gaze, staring at his feet. His fingers are wringing together.

“What is it, Simon?” I pry, my voice going disgustingly soft.

“I—" He starts. “Gilbert Blythe once said to Anne, “ _You’ll marry someone who will read you Tennyson by firelight. I hope he breaks your heart whoever he is._ ” I worry every day that you’ll meet someone you love more than me and leave me hanging in the dust. I worry because I don’t want to leave your side. I think I’ve always felt this need to always be with you, but I’ve realized now it’s something more. I-I don’t know what that is, but I can’t imagine growing old and not being with you.” I’m shocked. My brain has short-circuiting. When I close my eyes to blink, I see the 404-service code error. He can’t love me in that way.

““ _He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”_ That’s from _Anna Karenina.”_ I say embarrassed.

“So, you do know some quotes.”

“Only sappy ones about love, I’m afraid.”

“Well this is the perfect moment for loving quotes. Go off, Pitch, you have the floor.”

“ _“Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.”_ Jane Eyre. _“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”_ Wuthering Heights.” I quote. Simon looks impressed, he has tried to raise one eyebrow but it’s not going well for him.

“ _“Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways… perhaps . . . love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.”_ Anne of Avonlea.”

“How can you barely speak in school, but remember all of that?” I ask.

“I guess I like memorizing things I care about,” he says, shrugging like reciting a long quote was nothing. “Like I memorize quotes that I like or what your 3rd most used emoji is. I know everything about you from your shower routine to your favorite book. For some reason you put up with me and I hope you accept what I’m saying and keep putting up with me for as long as you’ll have me.” I have no idea what is going on, but Simon is inching his way closer to me, until his forearm touches mine. Then he looks away and he gets out his phone. “Check your texts.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me when I look at him incredulously.

“ _“But I’ll have to ask you to wait a long time, Anne,” said Gilbert sadly. “It will be three years before I’ll finish my medical course. And even then there will be no diamond sunbursts and marble halls.””_ I read off.

“” _Anne laughed. “I don’t want sunbursts and marble halls. I just want YOU…””_ And then like a scene from a romance movie, he kisses me. His warm hands find my wind chilled cheeks and I melt. His lips leave mine and we awkwardly giggle.“How would you feel if I proposed to you right now?”

“I would call you an impatient son of a bitch,” I reply. I almost laugh. Simon does, his loud and pride nature shining. I think if he got down on one knee, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’ve known him all my life, there is nothing about him that will make me want him even less. I can’t believe I just kissed him. I bet no one will bat an eyelash if we end up dating. “Did you really just kiss me?”

“Yes. Something wrong?” Simon asks.

“I just can’t believe you did it is all.” I take a breath, unbelieving I’m about to admit this. “I’ve been waiting for that kiss for years.”

“Baz, do you think we could work as a couple?”

“We are basically dating already, Simon.” We both laugh.

“Yeah, right.” He waits a minute before saying anything. I’m scared the kiss ruined something between us. “What are we going to do about my dad?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“What are we going to tell Penny?” He says, starting to run his hand through his hair.

“That her biggest dream came true.” I take my hands out of my pockets and hold it out to Simon who takes it. I squeeze. I bring his hand up to my lips and kiss it. Simon smiles. I feel elated. I think I’m smiling. I don’t smile often. I’m not the smiling type, especially big smiles with my teeth, but I think that’s what’s happening now. I’m staring into his ordinary blue eyes and I’m so overwhelmed.

Simon’s phone starts to ring. He groans very loudly. “Who is it?” I ask.

“My father.” He answers the phone and puts it on speaker, neither of us are prepared to hear his voice.

“Hello Simon.”

“Hello Dad.”

“Um, how are you doing?” There is some rustling. “I miss you.” I can see Simon’s Adam’s apple bopping even in the little light we have outside.

“I’m alright.” Well this sure is awkward. I still have hold on Simon’s hand, it’s so warm. I hope my cold fingertips don’t bother him.

“Good. I, um, wanted to apologize for my actions. It was unjust of me to do that. I’m not very adept at processing things. I talked things over with your mother and came to my own conclusion that I did wrong by you. I hope you can forgive me and we can work towards a more… open and… comfortable living situation for the rest of the summer.”

“I don’t know if I can forgive you right now. I learned what you did to mom and I think it might be hard to forgive you on the spot. But as we work towards a better situation, I will be more open to forgiveness,” Simon replies.I’m proud of him. I’m so proud of him.

“Will you come home soon?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is great.”

“I will see you then.”

“I love you, Simon. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry.”

“Sure.”

When I wake up the next morning, my eyes are crusty from sleep and ache from crying. There is cold air coming through an open window. I love summer mornings when it’s cold outside. It’s a reminder of the wintery months coming up on the other end of the summer oasis.

Simon is draped over me, a pool of drool cascading from his mouth. _Mouth Breather._ He is lightly snoring. I check my clock, it’s still early in the morning. Simon won’t be up for at least an hour. I close my eyes and try to fall back asleep, but I’m overwhelmed by the boy lying on top of me. We’ve cuddled plenty of times before, but never to go to sleep. His hair is a messy pile of curls, they overflow onto his forehead. It brushes on my chin when I move my head. It feels soft. If I lean a certain way, I can smell his hair. He used my shampoo; the crisp smell of cedar reaches my nostrils and I love that a little part of him smells like me. I wrap my arms around him. I like him here… like this. He’s warm, sometimes I think he is too warm for a human, but I don’t mind it. I’m always freezing. Simon’s bare legs touch mine, our clothed chests hitting each other. Simon’s shorter than me and his head lies perfectly by my shoulder. I probably have b.o., I wonder if he can smell it.

Last night was a dream that I’m still reeling from. We didn’t kiss anymore after that one time. Every time one of us leaned in, we would laugh too much to actually do it. I don’t mind. I’ve waited this long to kiss Simon; I can wait however much longer.

I don’t want to bring him home today. I don’t want him to have to deal with whatever he’ll have to deal with. But I know he is strong, and I know he can handle it. I find myself drifting back to sleep, hopefully when I reawake, I’ll be better prepared to deal with him leaving.

I wake up when I feel Simon moving his arms to rub his eyes. He looks up at me sleepily, his eyes half closed. I run a hand through his hair to get it off his forehead, he groans. The long curls bounce right back. “Good morning, darling,” I say like I do in all my dreams of him waking up in my arms. He blinks, nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck.

“Morning is an illusion,” he grumbles.

“Did you sleep well?”

“How are you so competent? You just woke up.”

“Guess I’m just happy,” I say, tightening my hold around him.

“I’m glad you are happy.”

“Are you not?”

“I am. I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

“The door is there, Simon. Go walk out it. I can see why Agatha broke up with you now. You are too corny for your own good,” I say, pushing him off of me.

“No! Don’t be mean,” he whines, immediately coming back to snuggle me. “It’s too early to be mean.”

The drive to his house is quiet. Simon’s arms are crossed over his torso, his bag at his feet. He has a severe pout on his lips, and I wonder why he is going home today when he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t have to, but I know he probably feels as though he is my burden. I don’t know how to tell him he’s not.

When we pull up to his house, he sighs. He slowly opens his door and grabs his bag. I turn off the engine and exit the car.

“You don’t have to get out,” he says.

“I want to,” I reply. He nods. He’s standing right in front of me, his back to his house. We are both looking at the ground. I reach for his hand. “I can’t believe my darling is going to war,” I say in my 40s American accent. Simon gives me a small smile. He’s sad, I can see it in his eyes. I’m fiddling with his fingers; he’s staring at them.

“You are leaving too.”

“We can’t both fight in the war. Who will look after the kids?” I ask. He has a confused look in his eyes.

“The kids?”

“Have you been away so long that you’ve forgotten about the children?” Simon looks at me incredulously, shaking his head.

“Ah yes, the kids,” he follows along. “Our daughter Penny and her no-good boyfriend Shepard.” I laugh. I was improvising but calling Penny and her boyfriend our children really got to me.

“If anything, Penny is our mother in this narrative,” I correct, dropping the drawl.

“Not anymore.” Simon has also dropped his. “Are we both fighting the same war?”

“In a way,” I reply.

“Maybe we’ll see each other on the battlefield then,” Simon says, his accent coming back. “We’ll wave to each other and sneak away to snog by some tree and hope no one sees us there.”

“Or maybe I’ll just stay home,” I say. “There isn’t enough room for both of us to be fighting.” Simon takes his hand away, putting it on my upper arm. He tilts his head up and kisses my cheek. I feel my face burn up. I’m sure I’m red all over. I probably match the color of the door.

“That’s something for you to remember me by.” He looks to window of his dad’s room and then to the door. “I should go.”

“Wait, um…” I grab his hand again, forcing him to look back at me. “May I kiss you on the lips?” He starts to laugh, nodding. I start to lean in, but he’s laughing too much. “Focus, Simon.” He rolls his eyes and I give him a chaste kiss, then bring him into a tight hug. “I love you so much,” I say as though my mouth cannot contain the words any longer. They drip in feelings of underlying subtexts. I think Simon can feel it too; the weight of what I just said and how I said it. Although I’ve said I love you so many times, I cannot fathom I could say it with any more love than I did when I said it moments ago.

“I love you too.”

“Will you be alright?”

“I’ll only be at war, darling. I’ll be home before you know it,” he whispers in my ear. There is a subtle accent, but it’s barely there.

“I’ll be tending to the farm in Avonlea. Everything will be the same when you return.”

“Maybe the leaves will be a new shade, or the flowers will finally bloom,” he replies wistfully. I let go of him. This feels like a weighted goodbye even though I’ll probably talk to him later. It’s hard to let him go. I stay outside until I see he has entered his house. Then I drive home and hope that the war won’t last too long and I’ll once again have him in my arms.


End file.
